


Types of purgatory

by tanmaree



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Felicity doesn't like Oliver Queen at first, Felicity meets the vigilante first, Felicity went to prison, Gen, Tommy flirts with Felicity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21766831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanmaree/pseuds/tanmaree
Summary: What if Felicity had spent five years in prison for the virus she built and Cooper then used?  Set at the start of season one.  Oliver goes to Laurel's apartment as the hood but finds Felicity there instead.  Just a warning - I will probably play fast and loose with the events of season one.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 99
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, DC or The CW

Felicity sticks her head under the shower spray and closes her eyes, letting the warm water stream down her skin, washing away the grease, grim and general smell of fried food out of her pores. This is a sensation she’s still getting used to: being able to shower in private, not having every move she makes watched. She luxuriates in the warm water for a few moments more and then picks up the bottle of shampoo which cost her twenty dollars. In her old life she would have never considered spending that kind of money on a bottle of shampoo but after generic shampoo and no conditioner, she thought she could treat herself. She lathers up and enjoys the aroma of berries that fills the shower cubicle as she gives her scalp a massage. Lather, rinse, repeat. She finishes washing her hair and turns her back to the spray, holding onto the tile and letting the water relax her muscles. 

The last time she was in a domestic shower and not one regulated by the US prison system, she was in it with Cooper. She’d been happy and in love. Until they were both arrested and at eighteen, she entered the prison system where she would spend five years. She was lucky, she made it out. Cooper didn’t. He’d hung himself in his cell. The news hadn’t reached her until four months after the fact. 

After five years, she was accustomed to three-minute showers, which were strictly timed and weren’t always lukewarm. She cranks the water up to as hot as her skin can take and stands under the spray until the bathroom is foggy with steam, her skin is pruned and red. Stepping out of the shower, she wraps a fluffy towel – another luxury – around herself, tucking the end under her arm to keep it in place and pads into her bedroom. She’s laid out three different pairs of pjs out on the bed to choose from. After only wearing orange for so long, she wanted to expand her colour palette. So, there was Tweety bird pjs, Garfield pjs or pjs covered in blue phone boxes. Tonight, seemed like a Tweety bird night. Tweety was happy and bright. 

She had just put on her pjs and was walking out of the bedroom, rubbing a towel over her wet hair when the lights went out. She pauses and flicks the light switch. Nothing. Creepy. She walks into the living room and screams and drops the towel to the floor. There in the middle of the living room – her living room – is a man dressed in leather, she squints and thinks it’s green leather, with a hood up hiding his face. 

As soon as she screams, he whips out a bow and arrow and points an arrow right at her. She holds up her hands in surrender. Fantastic. She’s been out of prison mere months, she survived prison and now she was going to be raped and murdered by a bow and arrow wielding home invader. Well, she had news for him, she wasn’t going to an easy target, she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She’d never been particularly scrappy but she’d learned to take care of herself. 

And who the hell chooses a bow and arrow as their weapon, archery looks utterly ridiculous. Though, this man definitely wears the leather well, it hugs him in all the right places. And she needs to focus. 

“You’re not Laurel,” He growls, his voice weirdly robotic. He’s clearly using some kind of voice modulator. She wonders what type and model and if he’s utilised any modifications. She shakes her head - bad thoughts, Felicity - technology and her curiosity and genius mind were the reason she was a resident of the prison system in the first place. She needed to steer clear of guys in leather and their technology. Especially when they weren’t exactly friendly and seemed to have a shoot now, ask questions later policy. Definite murderous intent going on there. 

“No,” she says slowly, her hands still up in the air, an arrow aimed straight at her and she would be willing to bet this guy has great accuracy. “I’m not.”

They stare at one another; she can’t see his expression with the darkness the hood and the way his chin is slightly tipped down. But she’s betting his jaw is set and he is not pleased to see her. As they have an epic stand-off, her phone goes off where she threw it down on the sofa on her way to the shower. Her eyes flick to it and then back to him. He’s not moved an inched, he’s like one of those Adonis statues but clad in leather. 

“ _Oh, mama I’m in fear for my life from the long arm of the law,”_ her phone chirps out the Styx classic, getting progressively louder the longer it rings. Felicity suppresses a groan; she knows exactly who’s calling. Pressing her lips together she looks at her late-night visitor; “That’s my mother. If I don’t answer it, she’ll call SCPD and get them to come check on me. I’m guessing you don’t want that.”

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arrow trained on her. As if she’s any kind of threat to him. He’s a giant. She wouldn’t get even one solid punch in before he subdued her. It was just ridiculous for him to pointing his weapon at her. But such was her life. With her hands still raised, she bends to the side and snatches up her phone from the sofa and keeping her eyes on him, answers the call.

“Hi, Mom.” She greets on a sigh. To say her relationship with her mother was strained would be an understatement. 

“Hi, baby. I thought you weren’t going to answer but I’m so glad you did.” Felicity absently listens to her mother babble on about her life until she gets to her point after a lengthy diversion; “So, I talked to Earl and honey, there’s a job here if you want it. He doesn’t even care that you’ve done time.”

Felicity sighs and feels so weary down to her toes. She’s so done. She wants to watch some crappy tv and eat some icecream and not have to deal with her mother or a murderous late night visitor. 

“Mom, I don’t want to come back to Vegas. I don’t want to be a cocktail waitress.”

“Well, honey, Starling is just so far away and I want you closer. Also, we can’t be too picky, baby, you don’t have many career options.”

Her mother could always be relied upon to remind her how far she’d fallen from grace. She’d been on a fast track to a degree from MIT, now no one would hire her in technology or even look at her resume. 

“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a visitor.”

She has to hold her phone away from her ear as her mother squeals in excitement. “Oh, Felicity, have you made a friend?”

Her mother says it like she was in first grade and had come home and said she played with some other kid on the playground. Her mother sounds so proud.

“No. I haven’t made a friend, Mom.”

“Oh,” Felicity felt her mother’s disappointment from miles away; “It’s not a man is it?” And then came the disapproval, “Because honey, while I want you to get some love, you don’t tend to attract the right kind of man.”

Felicity sighs and eyes the hooded guy wearily, this is not the conversation to be having when you have an arrow pointed at you and a man wearing leather who may or may not want to do you some harm.

“No, mom, I don’t have a man in my apartment,” it’s only a teeny tiny lie. “Look, mom, I’ve really got to go.”

Her mother sighs, “Fine. But Felicity try to make a friend. And stay out of trouble. Kisses, baby.”

Felicity presses the end call button and shoves her phone into her pj pocket and continues her stalemate with tall, dark and looming. Her mother wasn’t wrong about her attracting the wrong type of man. The hood guy is the very definition of trouble, radiating danger from every pore. She bets he could get her into all kinds of trouble. Except, he wasn’t really attracted to her, he had come looking for Laurel Lance and found Felicity instead. 

“You’re the vigilante guy who helped Oliver Queen and Tommy Merlyn when they were kidnapped for like five minutes.” She blurts out. She’d read about it, not on any piece of technology which she was definitely not allowed to use by law, but in the newspaper that still got delivered to Big Belly Burger. “You aim your arrows at people menacingly and tell them they’ve failed the city.”

His bow and arrow lowers slightly which really is not a comfort to Felicity because if he lets that arrow go, she’s still a goner. And wouldn’t that just be the worst luck to survive five years in prison only to be killed like a baby deer by a Robin Hood wannabe. 

“Why are you in Laurel’s apartment?” he demands, his voice all kinds of growly under the weird robotic tone. The voice modulator doesn’t allow her to discern much about him but she picks up that he’s got a thing for Laurel and is getting rather impatient with Felicity. 

She’s not an idiot, she should probably be a little more freaked out by the looming figure standing in her living room but when you’ve been cornered by a woman in the showers with a shank, who wants to cut you from navel to sternum because you’ve rejected her sexual advances; an arrow wielding vigilante is a walk in the park by comparison. 

She hesitates for a moment before she replies slowly, “Actually, this is my apartment. Laurel sublet it to me a few months ago. Said she wanted to get a fresh start in an apartment that didn’t have so many memories or people she’d rather forget.”

Laurel Lance and her apartment had come at just the right time for Felicity. She was required by law to disclose her criminal record when looking for a place to live. Nobody wanted a criminal for a tenant – at least not anywhere Felicity wanted to live. Laurel had skipped over the blemish that was Felicity’s past and smiled kindly and had instead asked her how she was liking Starling so far. 

Felicity couldn’t really afford the apartment on her wages from Big Belly Burger alone. But her grandparents had set up a fund for her which she was supposed to receive when she’d turned twenty-one but since she’d been in prison at the time, the bank had held it in trust. She’d received it when she’d been released. It wasn’t a massive nest egg but it meant she could use it to subsidise her wages and live in this beautiful apartment. 

And have a vigilante pay her a threatening late-night visit.

The vigilante lowers his bow, unnotches the arrow and reaching behind him, returns it to his quiver. She guesses the threatening part is over. Now, that he’s no longer pointing a weapon at her, she flops down on the sofa and tucks her legs under herself. 

“Look, I don’t know Laurel’s new address. She was nice to me, but we’re not friends, she’s just my landlord.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, she can’t see his face but she feels like he’s watching her, considering her. Then, clasping his bow, he strides over to the window, which she’s only just noticing now, is wide open, steps up onto the ledge and is gone into the night. 

A second later, her lights come back on. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Felicity pulls her blonde hair up into a ponytail, her fingers brush her industrial piercing and she looks at her reflection in the cracked mirror in the break room. She’s a far cry from the goth, righteous girl she’d been when she was arrested and shoved into the back of a police car. She’d been forced to remove her nose piercing and various other piercings. When she left prison, she’d dyed her hair blonde and hadn’t even been tempted to reinstate the piercings but her industrial piercing was her last piece of rebellion, her last reminder of the girl she’d once been. 

She straightens out the yellow polo shirt and ties a black apron around her waist and walks out to start her shift. It’s a quiet day and Carly is leaning against the counter. Felicity likes Carly, she never looks at Felicity with judgement, just kindness, she knows Felicity was in prison but never asks her any questions it about, they just chat about normal things. Felicity also likes Carly’s brother in law, Diggle, who comes in most days and Felicity enjoys watching Carly and Diggle flirt and pretend they aren’t flirting. 

Felicity walks over and leans against the counter, looking out over the restaurant, and – oh, look at that, here comes Diggle for his daily flirt session. Today, he’s trailed by Oliver Queen and Tommy Merlyn.

“When did Diggle get custody of two poor little rich boys?” she asks with a grin. 

Carly shrugs beside her and returns her grin with one of her own. “Maybe he’s starting a mentorship program.”

“A kind of reintegration into normal people society?”

“Something like that.”

Felicity can feel said rich boys staring at them and she has to resist the urge to glare at them. Diggle wanders over to them and greets them both. Felicity appreciates that he always includes her in his greeting and their conversations. Carly doesn’t miss a beat and starts teasing him right away.

“So sweet of you to adopt two white boys. They need a good role model.”

Felicity can’t hide her grin and Diggle takes the ribbing all in his stride, pointing at the booth Oliver and Tommy have settled into.

“That’s my client, Oliver Queen.”

Felicity tilts her head and watches as Oliver exhales loudly and winces slightly; “Looks like you’re doing a bang-up job of protecting him.”

She grins at Diggle cheekily and he gives her a smile back. Carly and Diggle soon start the flirting portion of Diggle’s visit so Felicity moseys along and decides to go take the little rich boys’ orders. She walks up to the table just as Tommy finishes apologising for banging Oliver’s girlfriend while Oliver was on the island and they have a little bro moment before they both realise, she’s there.

Tommy props his elbow on the table and puts his chin in his hand and gives her what she thinks is his best charming smile. “Well, hello. You’re beautiful.”

“I’m also extremely not interested,” she says with exaggerated cheer.

“Ooooh,” Tommy says, sitting up and putting a hand to his chest, “That wounds me. Oliver, you try.”

Felicity rolls her eyes and turns expectantly to her other billionaire customer. “Don’t bother,” she warns, “Your brand of rich boy charm won’t work on me. I like my men a little less pretty billionaire and more bad boy.”

“Ollie, did you hear that, she thinks we’re pretty!” Tommy mock whispers with a little too much glee for her liking. 

“Look,” she says impatiently, “I don’t want to flirt or banter or whatever, I just want to take your order. So, what can I get you?”

They go back and forth with what they want to order and ultimately can’t decide until Oliver’s phone goes off and he answers it, says something in Russian and says to Tommy that it’s a Russian model. Felicity has to once again resist rolling her eyes. She tells Tommy she’ll just bring them a couple of cheeseburgers and gets the hell out of there. When she returns, Diggle tells her they’re not staying to eat and she thanks all the heavens above, she doesn’t think she could handle anymore of Tommy Merlyn’s flirting. She thinks that he’s probably an acquired taste. 

When their order is up, Oliver and Tommy slid from the booth and walk up to where Diggle has just finished flirting with Carly. Felicity hands over the bag of greasy food to Diggle who thanks her while Tommy grins openly at her. She hands over the drinks holder to Oliver who dips his head and catches her gaze, his eyes the brightest shade of blue she’s ever seen and softly says; “Thank you, Felicity.”

And the two little rich boys now know her name. Fantastic. 


	2. Late night visits and blindfolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gets another visit from the resident vigilante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, DC or The CW

Felicity fumbles with her keys outside her apartment, curses as she drops them, bends and picks them up, roughly shoves the key in and opens the door. She’s so tired. It was a busy shift, she smells like old fried food and cleaning products. She pulls her key out of the lock and slams the door. She flicks the light switch on. Nothing happens. She tries it again. She knows she paid the bill.

“Felicity,” a deep, robot tone comes from behind her and she sighs wearily. When exactly did she sign up for late night visits from the city’s vigilante? Slowly she turns around – and yup there he is in all his green leather, hooded glory. She drops her bag on the floor and lets her head fall back against the door. She’s too exhausted for another bow and arrow to be pointed at her. She slowly lowers herself down to the floor, pressing her back against the door and pulling her knees to her chest. She can feel his eyes on her even if she can’t see them in the darkness and under the hood. 

“What do you want?” She asks, sounding desperate. Why can’t everyone just leave her alone? 

He ignores her question and moves closer to where she’s sitting, his boots thumping loudly against her floors. He looms over her like the giant enigma that he is. Doesn’t he have someone else to threaten? Can’t he go toy with the police who can’t seem to catch him no matter how hard they try. Why does he keep creeping into her apartment? 

“Felicity Smoak,” he intones, “Recently released from prison for cyber crimes. Twenty three years old. Native of Los Vegas. Daughter of a single mother. MIT’s brightest star until you created a virus that your boyfriend then used to hack into the system and erase student loan debts.”

“Not what I designed it to be used for,” she mutters.

“You weren’t arrested until a full twenty four hours after Cooper Sheldon. And only because he told the police about your involvement. He took you down with him. You were both sentenced to ten years imprisonment. You were released after five for good behaviour.”

She glares up at him; “Good for you, you looked me up. What do you want?”

She presses her back into the door and wraps her arms around her knees as he takes three steps closer and crouched down in front of. She catches a glimpse of some scruff and a jawline that would cause angels to sing.

“I need you to do something for me, Felicity.”

That doesn’t sound ominous at all. She tips her head to the side and rest her cheek on her knee. “Does this thing involve me crashing into my bed and you getting out of my apartment?”

Silence greets her question. So she takes that as a no. She can’t see his expression but she thinks he’s giving her a look. She sighs, it’s clear she’s not seeing her bed tonight until she helps the vigilante with whatever he needs a waitresses help for. 

“Fine. What is it?”

“I need you to come with me.”

Yeah. And that just sounds like the best idea. She gives him a look that clearly says that is so not going to happen. He stands to his full height, towering over her and holds out a gloved hand to help her up off the floor. She stares at that offered hand and doesn’t move an inch. 

“You know,” she says looking up at the hooded pain in the ass, “I’ve followed guys down the rabbit hole before. It never ends well for me. So, I’m just going to stay right here.”

“They weren’t me.”

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

“Felicity,” there’s a softness to his tone beneath the voice modulator and damn it all, it gets to her. “Please.”

She’s got the city’s fearsome vigilante asking her nicely for a favour. How does she get herself into these messes? She knows she’s totally going to go with him, her curiosity will reign supreme. He’s an enigma wrapped in a mystery and she can’t resist the possibility that he might reveal something of himself to her. Damn her curiosity and her need to solve a mystery, they always outweigh her instincts towards self-preservation. 

Reaching up, she places her hand in his. He wraps his hand around hers, the leather of his glove cold and buttery against her skin. He pulls her up in one smooth move which is impressive and would be insanely hot if she hadn’t sworn off men for the foreseeable future. And yup, there’s that impressive jaw. She catches a glimpse of grease paint before he backs up a step and keeping his chin tilted down, he says; “I’ll meet you in the parking garage in five minutes.”

And then her lights come back on and he’s gone. Five minutes is nowhere enough time for her to shower and wash away her day, instead she shoves on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, cardigan and her Doc Martins – another throwback to her goth pre-prison days. 

Felicity is halfway to the parking garage when she thinks she should just turn around and go back to her apartment and tell Mr. Vigilante to go ask Laurel to go on a little field trip with him.

She finds him looking impressively dangerous in a darkened corner by a sleek black Ducati motorcycle. Of course he rides a motorbike. It just adds to the overall effect. 

He holds out a black scarf to her. “Put that over your eyes.”

“You want me to get on that thing blindfolded?”

“You can’t see where I’m taking you. It’s for your own safety.”

And she hates that there’s sincerity ringing out in his modulated tone. Sincerity gets her every time. She snatches the scarf from him and places it over her glasses, pushing them into her face a little and ties it at the back of her head. Now, she’s blind and completely at his mercy. She feels him shove a helmet over her head so at least her head will be safe. 

With a hand on her waist, he gently guides her to the bike and she feels around for the seat with her hands. He helps her on, lifting her like her weight is nothing to him. She feels him get on in front of her and he grabs her hands wrapping them around his middle, forcing her forwards on the seat until her front is pressed against his back. 

She hears the engine roar to life and he revvs it a couple of times and then they’re taking off. It’s not her first time on the back of a motorbike but she’d never been blindfolded and Cooper had never driven with the total abandon that the vigilante does. She does her very best to move with him but not being able to see the road hinders that plan a little. She’s sure he’s breaking every speed rule. But hey what’s one more broken law, right? She imagines they’re weaving in and out of traffic and taking corners far too fast. 

Then they’re slowing down and he’s braking and they’ve come to a stop. She feels him get off the bike in front of her and they repeat the process of him helping her get off the bike. He pulls the helmet off her head and then, with an arm around her waist he guides her along and she hears the tell-tale beeping of a pin code being entered. His arm bands tighter around her and his mouth is at her ear, his scruff tickling her skin. 

“We’re at the top of some stairs, I won’t let you fall, trust me.”

Yeah, she doesn’t really have much option. They do a strange kind of frog march down the stairs, with him telling her when to step down and tightening his grip around her as she stumbles. Once they’re done with the stairs, he leads her across a space and guides her into a chair. She feels his gloved fingers at the back of her head untying the scarf. He pulls it off and her hand goes up to straighten her glasses and she blinks a few times to get her bearing. She’s in some kind of darkened, dank basement and isn’t that just how all murder stories begin. The only light comes from the few bulbs above the table she’s been situated in front of. On the table is a laptop which is full of bullet holes. She reaches out and sticks her finger in one of the dents in the casing. 

“I need you to see what information you can pull from that laptop.” His voice comes from behind her. It takes her a second to process his words and their meaning. Her hand flies away from the laptop and she stands up abruptly.

“No. No. _No._ ” she states adamantly as she faces off with the vigilante who looks even more murderous standing in his dank basement, hood covering his face and surrounded by darkness. “I can’t. Find someone else to do it.”

“Felicity,” he says patiently, “You’re the best.”

“No. Part of my release conditions are that I won’t use technology beyond my phone. I’m not even allowed to use the internet to order a pizza.” Ok, she’s exaggerating slightly but her point is valid; “I can’t go back to prison. I _won’t_. I’ve already gone to prison because of a guy. Been there done that. I won’t go back to prison. Not for you. No matter how well you wear that leather or how well you’ve mastered the whole bad boy vibe.”

She’s rambling and she knows it but the panic is rising up. She should have stayed in her beautiful apartment. She should have never rented that apartment and then she wouldn’t be having visits from a vigilante who had no regard for what she’s been through. She goes to move past him and go who knows where but he catches her arm. 

“No one will know you’ve helped me, Felicity.”

That didn’t help the panic that was settling in her chest and her eyes flit around not really taking in anything. “Yeah, that’s kind of what Cooper said too.”

“You won’t go to prison for me, Felicity. I won’t allow it.”

For some reason she believes him. But then she’d believed everything Cooper had said as well. She bites her lip and considers. Maybe a little peek at the bullet ridden laptop wouldn’t hurt. What if lives depend on the information he needs from it?

“I’ll look at it but I’m not hacking anything,” she says as she pulls away from him and goes back to the chair, sitting down gingerly.

“Fair enough.”

She plugs the laptop into one of his computers, ignoring the terrible setup he’s got going on. It’s not her problem. This is a one time deal. She won’t be coming here again so it doesn’t matter how his computers are set up, even if it is wrong. She clicks on files, not really knowing what she’s looking for. She feels him lingering behind her.

“How did it get riddled with bullets?” she asks, glancing back at him over her shoulder. 

“Things got a little heated when I retrieved it.” He says it so causally, like he’s always on the receiving end of gunfire. He probably is. “It belongs to an assassin named Deadshot.”

“Well, he sounds like a delight. He’s a paid assassin? I bet his mother is super proud.”

He doesn’t answer, just inches closer as she continues to click through the files on the hard drive. She’s so done with his hovering. “Would you sit down or something?”

He pulls up another chair and sinks down into it, keeping a reasonable space between the two of them. He keeps his head down, the hood working to full effect. Even if she tries to sneak a peek at his face, she won’t be able to see anything. 

She clicks on a file and the screen fills with a digital image of blueprints. “Huh, blueprints. Of the exchange building.”

“Exchange building? Never heard of it.”

She shoots him a sceptical look, she’s only lived in Starling a short time and before that she was a resident of the justice system but even she knows what the Exchange building is. 

“It’s where the unidac industry auction is to take place.” She helpfully explains; “This is the laptop of one of the people who is hoping to win the bid.”

“Deadshot wants unidac industries?”

God, was he being purposefully obtuse? She shakes her head and points at the screen, “No. Warren Patel. This laptop belongs to Warren Patel. I have no idea how your assasion came to be in possession of Warren Patel’s laptop.”

“Deadshot’s an employee of Warren Patel evidently,” he states, his tone full of barely contained fury. He stands up, his hand pushing the laptop closed, almost snapping her fingers; “Thank you, Felicity. I’ll take you home.”

Okay. She’s got about a million questions but it’s clear he’s not going to supply any answers. It’s probably a good thing anyway, there’s no way she should be involved in anything he’s doing. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. Before she can even ask one question, he puts the scarf over her eyes. And they repeat the process in reverse and going up the stairs blindfolded is a lot harder than going down them. She trips on nearly every single one. It’s only his firm grip on her that keeps her upright. 

His driving is any more subdued and she’s so glad she doesn’t get motion sickness. 

He drops her off in the parking garage and helps her off the bike, undoing the scarf. He thanks her again with that same sincerity and she thinks she’s probably already in so much trouble. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity has a moment with Oliver and gets a visit from Detective Lance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, DC or The CW

Day shifts at Big Belly Burger can be extremely boring depending on the particular day. This day was excruciatingly boring. Felicity had spent the last few hours refilling salt shakers, sugar canisters and ketchup bottles. Currently, she was sitting at the counter, elbow on counter, her chin in her hand watching the drip, drip, drip of ketchup as it transfers from one bottle to the other. It was like the worst hourglass in history. Being on the early shift was mind numbing and she couldn’t wait for Carly to arrive just so she’d have someone to pass the time with. Michael in the kitchen was nice but not extremely chatty, having a conversation with him was something almost akin to pulling teeth. And she’d actually pulled a tooth before, she’d made a tentative companion in prison who had needed a tooth extraction, the doctor had wanted to do it but Casey wouldn’t let anyone touch her. Felicity had been called in to calm her down but then Casey had insisted Felicity was the only one allowed to come near her with the tooth extractor. It was traumatising for them both. 

Drip, drip, drip.

“Why so glum?” Carly asks as she props her hip against the counter and smiles at Felicity. 

Felicity replies without tearing her eyes from the incessant drip, drip, dripping of ketchup. “Bored.”

Carly makes a small noise of agreement and stares out at the empty restaurant. It’s the deadest Felicity has ever seen it and the quiet hurts her brain, she wonders if she can talk Carly into a game of poker. 

Felicity glances briefly at the door as it opens and then drops her hand from her chin and straightens up.

“What happened to Digg?” 

Diggle walks into the restaurant with his arm in a sling. Beside her, Carly heaves a heavy, wary sigh. “Oliver Queen is what happened to him, I’d be willing to bet on it.”

“Dig needs to find himself a better career.”

Felicity has no doubts that Diggle’s talents are wasted running after little rich boys like Oliver Queen and getting him out of trouble of his own making. Carly pushes away from the counter and throws one last comment Felicity’s way before approaching Diggle. “You’re preaching to the choir, my friend.”

Felicity watches as Carly repeats Felicity’s sentiment that Diggle needs to find some other form of employment. The billionaire himself comes in tailed by another bodyguard – how many exactly does he need? Felicity smirks as Oliver is treated to Carly’s pointed glare and sass.

Carly returns to the counter and they both lean against it as they watch Diggle and Oliver have what looks like a tense conversation. 

“He got shot. And he’s no longer in Mr. Queen’s employ which is something at least.” Carly relays to Felicity. 

“He fired Diggle for taking a bullet?”

Carly shrugs, “Don’t know but he’s not his bodyguard anymore.”

Felicity nods and ultimately decides to take her break. She cons Michael into making her a burger and fries and takes her lunch out to the back ally and perches on an old table that’s been placed out there since they don’t exactly have anything resembling a break room. 

She munches happily on her burger and starts in on her fries, enjoying the fresh air and just _freedom_ of choosing when she eats and where she eats. She’s contemplating all aspects of the meaning of true freedom when the door crashes open, bouncing off the brick wall of the alley and Oliver Queen appears. Sans bodyguard. It’s clear he’s skipping out on the young, eager newbie dope who is charged with keeping him safe. 

Felicity knows she should just keep her mouth shut and let him slink off to wherever he’s going. But keeping her mouth shut has never been her forte.

“So, you’re giving your bodyguard the slip,” she states and his head swings around and those piercing blue eyes are suddenly trained on her as she speaks. “Is that how Diggle came to be on the receiving end of a bullet? Someone fired at you and you just left him to it?”

His eyes narrow at her and he takes a step closer; “Excuse me?”

His voice is harsh and low and growly and Felicity supposes that maybe he’s trying to intimidate her. But he’s not even the scariest thing she’s seen this week. She figures he’s not used to people calling him out – after all, he is Oliver Queen, he’s probably got his way all his life. Something in the back of her mind tells her she shouldn’t be so judgemental, he did spend five years on an island, that probably changed him a little. She ignores that thought and continues on with her rant, she is after-all on a roll.

“Did you even apologise for getting him shot? Or is ‘sorry’ not in your entitled, rich boy vocabulary?”

He takes another step closer and she has to tilt her head back to look up at him as he looks down at her, studying her, tilting his head ever so slightly; “You don’t have a very high opinion of me do you?”

He says it in a way that makes her think that maybe he cares what she thinks of him. Which is just a completely ridiculous notion. 

“Not really. It’s difficult to have a high opinion of a guy who peed on a cop.”

He has the good grace to at least look slightly ashamed about that moment in his past and takes a step back, shaking his head; “I’m trying not to be that guy anymore.”

She quirks a speculative brow, “How’s that working out for you so far?”

“Not well,” he grinds out, reluctantly she thinks. 

“Mmm,” she starts collecting up what’s left of her lunch, stands, walks around him and moves to head back inside but pauses long enough to leave him with one final thought: “Maybe a big step in being better than you were before is to care about those who lower than you on the food chain. Like your bodyguard.”

She walks back inside before he can respond. When she gets out to the main floor, Detective Lance and his tech guy are propping up the counter, waiting for her. It’s their weekly visit to her to scour through her phone and make sure she’s not engaging in any kind of cyber crime. She finds it ironic that her phone is being policed by a weedy guy who is no where near as qualified as she is. She has no doubt that if she wanted to do some hacking on her phone, there’s no way in hell this guy would find any trace of it. Still, she surrenders her phone to him without protest. 

Detective Lance straightens up and gives her an appraising glance. “Miss Smoak. Keeping out of trouble?” 

His tone was gruff but he had been nothing but kind to her since their first meeting. He’d told her that she reminded him a little of his youngest daughter. The youngest Lance had been prone to being attracted to guys who were all wrong for her and only led her to trouble. 

Felicity offers the Detective a shrug and a self-deprecating smile. “I’m doing my very best.”

“Good. Keep it that way,” he says as his tech guy nods and hands her back her phone. Detective Lance nods at Felicity and then he motions to his tech guy and they exit. Carly sidles up to Felicity and nudges her.

“God, that man is an ass.”

“He’s just doing his job, Carly.”

“Yeah, well he could be a little nicer about it. His tech guy looks at you like you’re a common criminal.”

Felicity grins and shots Carly a sideways look; “Carly, I _am_ a common criminal. At least in the eyes of the law.”

Carly huffs. “Well. That’s really not the point.”


	4. Vigilantes and Kurt Cobain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity gets a visit from her favourite vigilante

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, DC or The CW. I also don't own anything pertaining to Nirvana, Kurt Cobain or The Foo Fighters.

“You’re worse than the prison authorities. At least they gave some warning before they cut the lights,” Felicity states without turning around. She’s standing holding up a paint swatch against the wall. A paint swatch which she can no longer decipher the colours on. “You know, if my power ever has an actual real outage or someone cuts it with the intention of doing me some real harm, I won’t even react. I’ll just go ‘oh, it’s fine, It’s just my vigilante visitor.’ I won’t even think to check if I’ve paid the bill or grab a weapon to defend myself with. Noooo.” She pauses and rewinds what she’s just said in her mind and is quick to amend it. “Not that you’re _my_ vigilante –“

His modulated voice cuts her off simply by stating her name. Beneath the robotic tone, he sounds tired, weary, maybe even a little sad. He sounds like he needs a little distraction from whatever ails him. She’s not sure why but she feels compelled to provide him with one. She turns to him and finds him standing awkwardly by the sofa. She gives him the brightest, biggest smile she has to offer. 

“Want to see what I bought today?”

Without waiting for him to say either yes or no, she goes into her bedroom and retrieves the best thing she’s paid money for all week. Felicity places the rotary telephone down on the coffee table. It’s shiny and teal and beautiful. She’s close enough now to the vigilante to see his gaze flick down to the telephone. She can’t see the exact hue of his eyes or anything that would hint at his true identity. The hood and the grease paint are surprisingly effective. 

“I know it’s vintage technology.” She starts explaining her purchase as though he’s asked for an explanation. “I love my smart phone, I do. But this is just amazing in its own way. When I saw it in the thrift store I just fell in love with it. I can picture myself walking around the living room with it like Carrie Bradshaw. You know, Sex and the City? It’s a tv show. Did you ever see it?”

She pauses and takes a much needed breath and eyes the vigilante. He doesn’t move an inch. He also doesn’t utter a word. She decides to take his silence to mean he hasn’t seen Sex and the City. “It’s ok. I’ll introduce you to the joy that is Carrie Bradshaw and company.”

More silence. He’s a tough crowd. She can almost hear the crickets chirping. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Felicity doesn’t know why he keeps turning up at her home but she can feel the broodiness emitting off him. She moves away from him and picks up the other purchase she made: a large framed poster of Kurt Cobain on stage, cigarette in mouth, strumming his guitar, huge wings behind him. She loves that the photo is in black and white and just thinks it adds to the haunted feel. Felicity holds the poster up as high as she can; “What do you think? You seem like the kind of guy who would be into Nirvana and the whole 90s grunge scene. Me? I’ve always gravitated towards happier stuff. But somewhere over the last five years, I’ve developed an appreciation for the heavier stuff.”

Her late night visitor stays irritatingly silent. He does heave a statically, modulated sigh and sinks down to sit on the very edge of her sofa. She decides to take that as slight progress. Maybe if she keeps talking he’ll eventually reveal what the hell he’s doing in her apartment. 

She props her poster against the wall and retrieves her pain swatches. “I’m planning to repaint. Red just doesn’t work for me. It seems angry, I want something more cheerful. What colour do you think?” She shoots him a stern look, “And don’t say green. I am _not_ painting my apartment vigilante green.”

Not really expecting a reply, she fans out the paint swatches and wonders if asking a hooded vigilante for decorating advice puts her sanity into question. But hey, besides Carly and possibly Diggle, the vigilante might sort of be the closest she was to making an actual friend. Her mother would be so proud. Detective Lance would not approve of her befriending the guy going around the city putting arrows into the one percenters. 

“When you were incarcerated, were there riots?”

His question is so far out of the blue that it shocks her into letting go of the swatches and they flutter to the floor. Though, to be fair it’s less the question that shocked her than it was his rough, disguised voice breaking the established silence. 

Bending, she picks her fallen swatches up off the floor and throws them onto the coffee table. Straightening up, she eyes the vigilante who has his hands clasped, head tilted down, allowing the shadows to conceal his face even more. 

“Yes.” She says, slowly. “There were riots. But there was never a friendly vigilante to lend a helping hand or save the day.”

“I didn’t save the day,” he says, his robotic voice coming out a little more growly.

“That’s not the way the news tells it. I watched the report. It said you saved Laurel from being fodder for the more eager prisoners. I bet she was thankful.”

Something that sounds like a snort escapes her hooded house guest. Ah, so the extra, extreme broodiness is about Laurel. Felicity wonders if Laurel knew who he really was under the hood. Because Laurel clearly meant something to him. 

“Laurel said I lack remorse.”

And Laurel’s opinion could apparently make or break the vigilante’s mood. Felicity rolls her eyes. “Remorse is overrated in my opinion.”  
  


“Remorse is overrated?” he sounds incredulous.

Felicity shrugs, “I mean, not overrated in a general sense but when you’re fighting for your life, fighting to survive then remorse kind of has to take a back seat.”

“Laurel doesn’t see it your way.”

Felicity shrugs once more, “That’s because she’s got a very high moral code and that’s great but she’s clearly never been in a fight for your life situation where it’s either them or you.”

Silence reigns once more and Felicity can feel him carefully regarding her. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. 

Abruptly, he stands, rising to his full height. “Best of You.”

Felicity frowns, confused by the random statement. “What?”

“It’s a song. By the Foo Fighters. Less grunge. More rock.”

And now she was exchanging song recommendations with the vigilante. Her life was strange. But he had clearly been listening to her earlier ramblings. 

“Okay.”

She watches as he strides over to her window and ducks down climbing out. He’s half out, half in when he speaks again. “Go with the blue.”

And then he’s gone and it takes her until her lights come back on to realise that he was giving her his opinion on what colour to paint her walls. 


	5. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Arrow, DC, The CW. I also don't own The Foo Fighters or the lyrics to their song Best of You.

“ _I’ve got another confession to make, I’m your fool, Everyone’s got their chains to break, Holding you, were you born to resist or be abused? Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?”_ Felicity sings under her breath as she wipes down tables. Since she couldn’t look the song up, she’d had to ask Carly if she could plug her phone into the restaurant’s sound system and play the song so Felicity could hear it. She’d heard it, liked it and now she couldn’t get it out of her head. It was all the vigilante’s fault. 

Carly had gotten sick of Felicity singing the same song over and over again for days on end and so had brought in a bag full of CDs – The Foo Fighters and Nirvana both – and had shoved the bag at Felicity and told her to expand her musical knowledge. Felicity didn’t mention that she was already familiar with Nirvana’s catalogue but instead just thanked Carly and tucked the bag away with her stuff in her locker. It didn’t stop her from singing under her breath or Carly rolling her eyes at her constantly. 

Felicity couldn’t exactly tell Carly that it was the vigilante’s fault she had to suffer through Felicity’s unfortunate singing. That would lead to questions about why Felicity was talking to the vigilante and why he was crawling through her window making house calls. Yeah, no. That would not lead anywhere good for her. 

Felicity dumps her bucket of water down the sink and is washing her hands when Carly sighs beside her. “So much for being done with Oliver Queen. Now Diggle’s stuck with the whole billionaire clique.” 

Felicity turns around slowly, just in time to witness Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn and Thea Queen settling into a booth. She scrunches up her nose as Tommy wiggles his fingers at her in a little wave and gives her a shit-eating grin. Thea looks over her shoulder at Felicity, her pretty, young face wrinkling into a scowl. Felicity knows that look. It seems like the youngest Queen has a little bit of a thing for Tommy Merlyn. That one’s never going to work out well.

Felicity rounds the counter just as Diggle walks up and she grasps him by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him in. “Diggle, Dig, I thought you were done with the trainwreck that is the billionaire experience.”

Diggle gently tugs Felicity’s hands away from his suit as Carly stands nearby, grinning like a fool. “Felicity, it’s not that bad.”

“Diggle. You were shot.” Carly helpful reminds him and Felicity nods enthusiastically at the excellent point her friend has just made. 

Diggle sighs in exasperation and looks between Felicity and Carly. “Would someone please just go and take their order?”

Felicity gives Carly a pleading look. Carly shakes her head. “No way. I had to deal with the rowdy teenagers earlier, it’s your turn to take one for the team.”

Felicity pouts but pulls out her order pad and pulls the pen from where she’d shoved it into her ponytail earlier. She walks over to the booth where the three elite are sitting, Thea Queen is perusing the menu and Felicity would bet her week’s wages that the girl has never set foot in an actual fast food restaurant before. 

“Felicity.” Tommy states, giving her that smile that is supposed to be something resembling charming. He says her name like it's his favourite word to say, like he's savouring the way it sounds. She knows he's full of shit. She barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. Tommy reaches out a hand as if to run it down her arm and she steps back, narrowing her eyes at him.

“Touch me and you’ll regret it.” It comes out harsher than she intended. But she doesn’t like being touched. Not anymore. She used to be a fairly tactile, affectionate person but she’d flinched back from her mother the first time she’d tried to hug her when she was first released and it’s taken her months to warm up to the well meaning hugs Carly offers. Felicity is fine if she initiates the contact herself but she can’t deal with people touching her. Maybe she’s more messed up than she first thought. 

Thea pulls down the menu and looks at Felicity with wide eyes because heaven forbid any woman resists the Merlyn charm, Tommy gives her another one of those smiles and Oliver is watching her with startling blue eyes that she thinks are seeing too much. Tommy’s smile slides into a full on grin.

“I don’t think there’s a man on the planet who would regret touching you.”

Ok. Ew. She knows Tommy means nothing by it, it’s simple flirtation but she just wants to get away from the table as fast as possible. She doesn’t miss the frown Oliver aims Tommy’s way. 

“Are you ready to order?,” she asks, deciding to just outright ignore Tommy Merlyn. 

Thea leans across Oliver, her elbow on the table and eyeing Felicity with something like recognition and Felicity has a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach about where this is going. Thea points at her.

“You’re Felicity Smoak.” Thea beams at her sudden realization, her smile is blinding. “My friends and I read all about you. You and your boyfriend paid off all those student loans. It was epic. You were like Bonnie and Clyde getting arrested together. It was so romantic.”

The baby Queen was practically gushing. Felicity bet Thea thought Cooper was hopelessly, beautifully handsome in the arrest photos that popped up on the internet. Sometimes the internet was the bane of Felicity’s life. Of course her and Cooper’s arrests were all over the internet and of course a bored Thea Queen would see the many articles. 

“Romantic,” Felicity dryly replies, “Isn’t the word I’d use to describe it.”

Terrifying and idiotic were more accurate descriptions in her opinion. She had been so unbelievable naive. She'd believed everything Cooper said to her, he'd been almost as charming as Tommy Merlyn, he'd had the same slickness to him. The same easy smile. He'd had her and he'd known she was completely under his spell, she'd loved him but she'd confused his affection for love when over time and reflection she realised it was more akin to manipulation. She’d been so, so angry at Cooper. And then he simply wasn’t there to be angry with anymore. 

“And we weren’t arrested together.” Felicity could hear the bitterness creeping into her tone and tried to pull it back. “Cooper was arrested first and then he told the police all about me.”

Thea gasps like she can’t imagine Cooper doing any such thing. Felicity has to remember that she was once that young and impressionable herself and not tell the young girl to stop being so ridiculous. 

“He ratted you out?” Tommy asks, his tone telling her that even he’s disgusted by the notion. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” More like sold her up the river. 

“Well, is he out now too?” Thea continues, still wide-eyed and eager about the romance of it all. “Have you two reunited?”

“No.” Felicity states bluntly, not really wanting to share the details with three people she doesn’t even really know.

“But why not?” Thea sounds downright put out as if everything should go the way she personally wants it. The way she imagined it when she read the news reports online. Felicity was sure the scenario Thea had in her head was closer to Cooper was somehow protecting her from some other nefarious threat and he knew she'd be safer in prison. As if. 

“Thea.” Oliver tries and fails to chide. 

“It would be a little difficult to reunite with Cooper, considering he killed himself mere months into his sentence. Now, can I please take your order.”

Thea’s mouth drops open and then she snaps it shut and she sits back up in her seat. Felicity manages to take their orders without anymore commentary about her own life. She takes their menus and walks away from the table. She makes it to the cutlery station before she realises that Oliver has gotten up and followed her. 

“Did you need something?” She asks without looking up at him, keeping her gaze on the wrapped sets of knives and forks. 

Oliver dips his head in an attempt to catch her eye but she’s not making it easy. “I’m sorry.” He says it so softly that she almost misses it. Frowning she looks up at him and he is wearing a contrite expression. 

“What for?”

“Thea. I’m sorry if her questions made you uncomfortable.”

She licks her lips and looks away, “I just don’t really like to talk about….when happened.” She meets his eye again and is stunned to see understanding burning in those blue irises. It’s something she’s not quite prepared for. She shifts uncomfortably; “Actually, Tommy’s constant flirting is making me more uncomfortable than your sister is.”

“Then, I’m sorry about him too,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up in an almost smile. 

“You shouldn’t apologise for other people.” Even as she says it, she finds it ironic considering people had more than likely been apologising for him his whole life. She moves to the left and around him and dashes into the kitchen to place their order. She’s also about 90 percent sure Oliver won’t follow her into the kitchen.

Michael gives her a strange look and she gives him the stink eye in return. She clips the order up and then spends the whole time it’s cooking sitting in a chair in the corner munching on fries. She might be hiding just a teeny, tiny bit. 

Once the order is up, she balances the plates the way Carly showed her how and slowly walks out and over to the table with great trepidation. She’s mildly relieved when Oliver takes one of the plates off her just when she’s on the verge of dropping something. She hands off the other plates and is just about to make her stunning get away when Thea pipes up again, that same look in her eyes.

“What was it like there? Prison?”

Lonely. Terrifying. Angry. Humiliating. There were so many words to describe what it was like but at the same time there wasn’t enough words in the English language to accurately portray what it had been like. But all words that describe her experience belong exclusively to her. So, she offers up the only word that she’s willing to give Thea Queen. 

“Cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is going somewhere. I know nothing terribly exciting has happened thus far but I am much more interested in the intricacies of characters versus action.


End file.
